Poolside in a cruise
ship gymnasium
Jane’s scene opens
in gay Hollywood
heaven: flanked by
a bevy of Olympic
beefcakes in flesh-
s colored short shorts
she’s aghast at
their curfew: Holy
Smoke! 9 o’clock!
That’s just when life
begins! Fountains
squirt on either side
of a slide rainbowing
into Technicolor water
when coach blows
his whistle: lens pans
from a ripped blonde
looping the high bar
before a faux Greco-
Roman wrestler fresco
to an inverted torso
revolving ass to
crotch and again
to an array of stone-
faced men doing
stylized calisthenics:
flex, plié, cartwheel,
high-kick. Enter Miss
Russell in a sleeveless
black catsuit, earrings
like two turquoise
penises. She struts
through their routine
caressing bulging
biceps and twirling
badminton rackets
down a line of supine
men scissoring legs
skyward: Doubles
anyone? Court’s free!
Alas the oblivious
Olympians can’t be
distracted even
by Jane’s famous
cleavage and erotic
innuendo: I like
big muscles and red
corpuscles (thrust,
wink) and pout
goes wry growl
as climax approaches:
Ain’t there anyone
here for love? Anyone?
Jane balls up at
pool’s edge as divers
knife over her rapid-
fire until one thin
extra clips her and she
tumbles in. Howard
Hawkes eyed the ac-
cident in the dailies
and kept it—then shot
the revised finale so
two buff gymnasts
raise dunked Russell
out of the water
onto their shoulders
as a white tuxedoed
waiter angles over
with a platter of
cocktails. Batting
diamonds from her
eyelashes, she lifts
a martini and toasts
the shirtless huddle
of sexy extras.